Malibu Music

by Rosemary Hammond

  Finally he took a deep breath and expelled it noisily. He turned to look down at her again.

  'I've written a book,' he announced at last. 'A novel. And it will be published soon. I'm working on the final revisions now.'

  'Why, Gerry, that's wonderful. I'm impressed.'

  He waved a hand in the air and frowned. 'Yes, it is wonderful in a way, but I'm finding that in order to keep writing I have to change, break old ties, give up the crazy life.'

  She eyed him warily. He seemed sincere, but how could you tell with a person like Gerry? She knew nothing about him. They had no common ground for understanding, no shared past. He obviously came from an entirely different background from hers, and although she couldn't help liking him, she didn't trust him for a minute.

  'What did you do before?' she asked. 'Before you started writing?'

  He gave her a long searching look. 'This and that,' he said at last. 'A little acting, a little tending bar, a little of everything.'

  She opened her mouth. 'I…' she began.

  Then a shout came up from the beach, a high feminine voice calling out in the darkness. 'Gerry! Where are you, Gerry?' Silence. Then, 'I know you're out here somewhere. Come on back to the party.'

  'Oh, hell,' he muttered. He gave Bianca a long look, smiled a crooked rueful smile, then leaned over the verandah. 'Be right down, Flicka.' He turned back to Bianca. 'Gotta go now. If I don't, she'll come up here. See you. Thanks for the cocoa.'

  She watched as he strolled nonchalantly away from her across the verandah, his movements confident and hurried. He started down the stairs, and in a moment disappeared from view. He never once looked back.

  'Where have you been?' she heard the girl's voice cry. 'I've been looking all over for you. Everyone's leaving.'

  Bianca heard the low rumble of his reply, then stood and watched as they emerged from the shadows into the light from the house. They were walking slowly towards the house next door, the tall broad-shouldered man and a shorter girl with long blonde hair that flowed silkily down to the waistband of her jeans. His arm was draped loosely around her shoulders, while hers clutched his waist, so close together that they cast only a single shadow.

  A very affectionate guy, Bianca thought to herself dryly. Isn't that what he'd said? She could still taste his kiss on her lips, practised, experienced—and totally meaningless.

  She went inside, turned out the lights, and went back to bed. It was quiet now that the party was over. She could get some sleep. Lying in the darkness, she thought of Gerry and couldn't help wondering what he and Flicka were doing at that moment. She'd said that everyone else was leaving. Did that mean she was spending the night with him? He'd said he wasn't sleeping with anyone. Was that another lie?

  'Oh, come on, Bianca,' she muttered aloud. What difference did it make? She smiled at her own question. She could still feel the touch of his mouth, his magic hands. She couldn't help liking him, responding to him, bat she was glad she'd made it clear to him, and to herself, that she meant it to stop right there.

  Early the next morning, when Bianca slid open the door to the patio to let the crying Midnight out, she saw the girl with the long blonde hair again. Dressed in a ragged pair of cut-off jeans and a sleeveless sweatshirt, she was standing at the edge of the surf, the gentle morning tide lapping at her bare feet.

  When Bianca opened the door the girl glanced up at the verandah, shielding her eyes from the bright morning sun. They stared at each other for several moments. Bianca had already showered and dressed and had on a pair of white shorts and a halter top. Her mop of curly dark hair shone in the sunshine, and her skin had turned a warm toasty brown by now.

  Finally, the blonde girl started walking slowly towards the house. Her long straight hair was like cornsilk, and as she turned she brushed it casually back with a graceful flip of one hand.

  Bianca stared at her, wondering as she approached just who she was and what her relationship with Gerry could be. From the way they had walked away last night with their arms around each other, she doubted it was a casual one. But, then, she thought grimly, he was a very affectionate guy.

  The girl was smiling up at her now, standing just below the verandah, her hand still shielding her eyes. She was very lovely, Bianca thought. No wonder the amorous Gerry was so fond of her. She must have stayed the night. Another lie, Bianca thought bitterly. He'd said he wasn't sleeping with anyone.

  'Hi,' the girl called up to her. 'I've been wanting to meet you.'

  Bianca walked slowly to the railing and leaned over slightly. She didn't know what to say, but the girl's grin was infectious, open and friendly, and she smiled back at her. The girl moved closer, into the shadow of the verandah, and removed her hand from her eyes.

  'I'm Flicka, Miss Jameson,' she announced. 'I've been trying to get up the nerve to come over and introduce myself ever since Gerry moved in.'

  'Really?' Bianca replied weakly. Why would this girl want to meet her? Surely she didn't see her as a rival for the magnetic Gerry's affections? And how did she know her name?

  'Yes,' Flicka went on more confidently. 'I'm an artist, too, you see,' she continued in a rush, her voice low and earnest. She was frowning, as though searching for the right words.

  Bianca was puzzled. Why was the girl so nervous? And what kind of artist was she? And what in the world did it have to do with her?

  'Oh,' she said lamely. 'You mean you're a musician? What's your instrument?'

  'No, not that kind of artist. I'm a painter. At least, I'm trying to be. I'm enrolled at the Westwood Academy of Fine Arts. I want to paint portraits, too. I admire your work so much, Miss Jameson, and I was hoping you might take a look…'

  'Hold on,' Bianca exclaimed with a laugh. 'You've got the wrong Jameson. I'm Bianca. You want my sister, Laura.'

  'You're not Laura Jameson?' The girl was clearly puzzled. 'I thought this was her house.'

  'Laura is my sister,' Bianca repeated. 'This is her house. She's in England for a year, and I'm just staying here.'

  'Oh, dear, what a disappointment.'

  Bianca had to smile. 'Sorry,' she said lightly. 'I can't even draw a straight line.'

  The girl gave her a quick apologetic look. 'That was terribly rude of me to say that. I'm sorry.' She sighed deeply. 'It's just that I've been cranking myself up to come over here for weeks, and now…' She spread her hands helplessly.

  Just then, Bianca caught out of the corner of her eye a tall male figure striding towards the house. It was Gerry. He was wearing a skimpy pair of dark bathing trunks and nothing else. Bianca felt a slow flush wash over her as she watched that confident walk and the powerful muscles playing under all that tanned masculine flesh. As he came closer, she could see that he was frowning.

  Quickly, she looked away. It wasn't her fault if his little blonde playmate chose to come over and introduce herself. And why had he let Flicka believe she was Laura? If the girl had been plotting ways to approach her, surely the subject had been discussed between them.

  'Flicka,' came Gerry's curt voice, 'I thought I told you…'

  'I know what you told me, Gerry,' Flicka cut in. 'But, as you can see, I did it anyway.' She looked up at Bianca. 'He's been warning me about coming over here bothering you. That's why I did it while he was still asleep.'

  Bianca squirmed uncomfortably. She didn't want to hear the details of their relationship. She wished they'd both just leave. She glanced at Gerry. He was standing a few feet away from the blonde girl, his large hands balled up into fists, resting lightly on his slim hips, his arms akimbo.

  He did indeed look as though he'd just got up, she thought. His dark eyes seemed even more heavy-lidded than usual, and the wavy black hair, brilliant in the sunshine, even more disarranged. Still, Bianca thought that outside of paintings and statues, she had never seen such a beautiful man. He was simply splendid standing there practically naked, the long muscular legs darkened with coarse black hair, the broad bare shoulders and powerful chest gleaming.

/>   He squinted up at her. 'You're up early for keeping such late hours.' He smiled.

  'So are you,' she retorted severely. She was annoyed at him for lying to her about his love life. Not that it mattered to her in the least, she assured herself, but no one likes to be lied to.

  'Well, you can blame Flicka for that,' he said. He darted a glance of annoyance at the blonde girl, who only grinned at him. 'She makes so much noise in the morning.' He glared at her. 'She also leaves long blonde hairs in the bathroom sink, doesn't pick up after herself, disturbs me when I'm trying to work, invites all her noisy friends to my house, and generally manages to make an unholy pest of herself.'

  Bianca could hardly believe her ears. What was going on here? A lovers' quarrel of some kind? It didn't sound like one, unless it was Hollywood-style. Gerry seemed to be seriously annoyed, and she had the feeling his anger stemmed from the fact that the lovely Flicka had come over to introduce herself against his wishes. It appeared that even the insouciant Gerry hated to be caught out in a lie, and, true to masculine form, managed to turn his own guilt into anger at the person who had revealed his deception. The poor girl, Bianca thought, and gave her a look of sympathy.

  Flicka, however, didn't seem to be upset in the least at Gerry's caustic tone and accusations. In fact, she was grinning from ear to ear, even though he was still glowering at her.

  'Who cares what you think?' she retorted defiantly. 'I'm leaving today, anyway.' She glanced up at the open-mouthed Bianca. 'I'm glad I got to meet you, anyway, Bianca, even if you aren't Laura Jameson. I'm sure we'll see each other again.' With that, she flounced past Gerry, gave him a hard shove that almost knocked him off balance, and said in a loud voice, 'Pooh to you, brother, dear.'

  'Why you…' he muttered angrily. He reached out to smack her bottom, but she darted out of his reach and ran up the beach, laughing gaily. For a moment, it looked as though he was going after her, but he stayed put and looked up at Bianca.

  Brother! He was Flicka's brother. Bianca was caught totally off-guard. He hadn't lied. A warm feeling of relief ran through her. She met his dark eyes and watched as a half smile gradually replaced the thunderous frown on his face. He shook his head slowly from side to side.

  'That kid,' he muttered. 'What a pest! She's been my cross since the day she was born.'

  'Poor Gerry,' Bianca mocked. 'How you suffer. I really feel sorry for you.'

  'Enough for you to give me a cup of coffee?' he rejoined in a flash.

  Bianca sighed. 'Oh, all right. Come on up.'

  She went inside to get the coffee and mugs, and when she returned, he was seated comfortably on the chaise, his long legs apart, elbows resting on his knees. She stopped short at the doorway. It was one thing to see all that bare masculine flesh down on the beach, but quite another to view it at such close quarters. His body unnerved her, and her legs weren't quite steady as she moved slowly out on to the verandah and set the tray down on the round metal table.

  'Aren't you afraid you'll get burned without a shirt on?' she mumbled as she poured. She was trying hard not to look at him, but he was so close it was unavoidable. She concentrated on his face.

  He raised his eyebrows and twisted his head around to examine his shoulders. 'No. I've got enough tan by now. Take a look. Don't you think so?' He turned his upper body slightly and presented a clear view of his broad back.

  She gave it a brief glance. 'I suppose you're right,' she murmured. She unfolded an aluminum chair and sat across the table from him.

  'Mmm, this is good,' he said, taking a long swallow of the fresh, fragrant coffee. He settled back on the chaise and closed his eyes.

  They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, drinking coffee, soaking up the warmth of the sun, listening to the sound of the surf and the gulls crying to each other. Bianca felt totally relaxed and happy. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, at peace with the world.

  It was so pleasant to be here, she thought, and for the first time since she met him, she felt really comfortable with him. In spite of his scanty attire—which was normal for the beach anyway— he hadn't come on to her in any remotely provocative way. Maybe he'd got her message and they could be friends after all.

  After a moment or two, she had a sudden feeling she was being watched. She opened her eyes to find him gazing at her thoughtfully.

  'So, Bianca,' he said lazily, 'what are your plans?'

  'Plans?'

  'Sure. Plans. What are you going to do with yourself, your music?'

  She frowned. 'I'm not sure.' She sat up and poured more coffee for them both. 'I came here to get away from music for a while, but I'm finding it impossible to resist.'

  'Why did you want to do that?' A look of amazement crossed his face. 'I'm no expert, but you sound damn good to me. Too good to give it up.'

  She sighed and looked away. 'I don't know if I'll ever be as good as I want to be. Or as good as my family wants me to be.'

  'Tell me about your family.'

  'Oh, they're wonderful,' she replied, brightening. She went on to recount all the accomplishments of her talented brothers and sisters, eagerly going into the details of Norma's opera career, Laura's painting success and the wonderful musical gifts of her father and two brothers.

  When she had finished, Gerry was silent for a long time, gazing at her. Finally, he spoke. 'That's quite a formidable bunch of talent to live up to.'

  'Yes, it is,' she said. The smile left her face. 'Too formidable, I sometimes think.'

  He shrugged and set his cup down. 'When I first decided to try my hand at writing,' he said in a low serious tone, 'everyone said I was crazy. I was doing okay—well, more than okay—at what I was doing, but it wasn't what I really wanted.' He gave her a long look. 'Do what you want to do, Bianca. Don't spend your life trying to live up to your family's expectations. Make your plans based on your own dreams, not someone else's. It's the only way.'

  She was touched at his concern, and had a sudden impulse to reach across the table and touch the large strong brown hand resting there. She didn't do it, though. What good did it do to warn him off if she were going to start touching him like that? Instead, she smiled.

  'You're right, of course, and I've just about arrived at that conclusion myself. The music is in there somewhere. I know now that it's too much a part of me to give it up completely.' She straightened up in her chair. 'Actually, right now my major problem is financial. It costs me hardly anything to live here in Laura's house, but it does cost something, and I'm almost broke.'

  'What will you do? I can give you some money if you need it.'

  She reddened. 'Oh, no, Gerry, I wasn't… No. I shouldn't have said that. Besides, you're a struggling artist yourself.' He opened his mouth to speak, but she rushed on, embarrassed. 'I can always give lessons, or find a job playing in a group. I'm going to call Tom today to see if he knows of anything.'

  'Tom,' he repeated. 'Your teacher, right?' She nodded. He set his mug down on the table and gave her a challenging look. 'The wimp.'

  Bianca refused to let him bait her. She smiled tightly. 'As I said, looks can be deceiving. Tom is an old friend, a fine teacher, and a wonderful man.' She batted her eyes provocatively. 'Actually, I had a terrific thing about him a few years ago.'

  'Don't do that,' he snapped, glaring at her.

  Her eyes widened. 'Do what?'

  'Come on to me like that.' His voice was grim with a distinctly threatening undertone. 'You don't realise what you do to a man, sitting there in that skimpy outfit, fluttering those long eyelashes.'

  'You're one to talk,' she defended herself hotly. 'You're practically…' She stopped, appalled at the direction the conversation was taking.

  'Practically naked?' he supplied for her pleashichantly, glancing down at his bare chest. Then he looked at her. 'But I'm not as pretty as you are.' He cocked his head to one side and his dark eyes swept over her in a swift, inclusive appraisal. 'I don't think you know what a seductive baggage you are, with th
ose fragile bones and wild mop of hair.' He grinned. 'A little on the thin side, but filled out quite nicely in all the right places.'

  'Gerry,' she warned, flushing hotly under his penetrating gaze. No one had ever spoken to her like that before in her life. She didn't know how to handle it. On the one hand, his approval of her physical attributes pleased her, but, knowing him and his 'affectionate' nature, she was determined to stay off such dangerous ground. A man like Gerry would chop her in little pieces and have her for breakfast if she allowed him to go past the boundaries she had so carefully erected.

  'And your face,' he went on dreamily, ignoring her protest. 'Not exactly beautiful, but very, very interesting. Intense, intelligent, shows a lot of character.'

  'Gerry,' she said again. 'Stop that right now.'

  He laughed. 'Sorry, Bianca. The temptation to tease you is irresistible.' He rose slowly to his feet, stretched widely and flexed his shoulders forward so that his long arms were held straight out in front of him rigidly.

  The abrupt motion startled her, caught her off-guard, and she watched, mesmerised, as the dark bathing trunks slipped down lower on his narrow hips under the tautened stomach muscles.

  Then, recovering herself, she gave him a cool look. 'I'm impressed with your body,' she remarked dryly, 'but you're still wasting your time.'

  For a brief moment, a look of real pain flashed in the dark eyes. He hitched up his trunks and folded his arms across his chest. 'You're a hard woman, you know that, Bianca?' He grinned. 'But I like you anyway. Thanks for the coffee. I'd better get to work.' He turned to go.

  'Gerry,' she called after him when he had reached the top of the stairs. He turned back. 'Why didn't you want Flicka to come over here?'

  He shrugged, then cocked his head to one side in that typical gesture of his. A slow smile formed on his mobile mouth. 'I don't know. Like I said before, you're different, kind of special. I guess I just didn't want to share you with anyone. Dumb, isn't it?' With a little wave he took off down the stairs.